


Chicken Noodle Soup For the (not so) Sick

by holyhael



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cuddling, Domestic, Established Relationship, Fallen Castiel, Fluff, M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-17
Updated: 2012-12-17
Packaged: 2017-11-21 10:00:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/596415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holyhael/pseuds/holyhael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What’s the matter, babe?” Dean asked, concern evident in his voice. </p><p>“Morning,” was Cas’ grumbled reply.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chicken Noodle Soup For the (not so) Sick

**Author's Note:**

> An anon on tumblr suggested the prompt 'where one of them pretends to be sick to get the other to cuddle with them'.

The bed was warm. Way too warm. And, considering the frost coalesced like a second window outside, there was good reason to stay exactly where he was: snuggled in the pair of arms he loved most with the soft Led Zeppelin that they’d fallen asleep to playing on the nightstand. The cocoon of blankets they’d found themselves in coaxed Cas back into slumber, and he buried deeper into the solid fortress of Dean’s arms. Dreams of children running around with their own knives and guns filled his head until, hours later, Dean was shaking his shoulder. 

“Rise and shine, Cas,” he was greeting, although not without regret. Dean planted a kiss on Cas’ temple as the ex-angel blinked his eyes open to the bleary light of dawn. The room was brighter and more aggravating than it had been the first time Cas woke up; the clock said 7:23. Shit. Cas groaned and drew the comforter up around his eyes. Morning came too soon. Dean was disrupting it too quickly. 

Noticing his refusal to participate in any morning activities, Dean jostled Cas’ legs lightly. When the man’s only response was to hide further away from the cold and responsibilities of being a human adult, Dean sank back into the bed and rubbed up and down Cas’ side. 

“What’s the matter, babe?” Dean asked, concern evident in his voice. 

“Morning,” was Cas’ grumbled reply. 

Dean sounded like he was smirking. “Yeah, but what’s morning to the apocalypse, right?” 

Cas would rather be throwing more molotov cocktails at brothers than face this morning. He was annoyed at how it had started perfectly, and now it was being ruined by things normal humans did. There was a reason he’d fallen, he knew, but right now all Cas wanted was to feel his grace again. 

No, there was a reason; it was right beside him, pressing another kiss to his neck. Cas’ entire being still thrummed beneath Dean’s tender touches. 

If only there was a way to push away the human things, even for just today. To skip out on everything that needed doing. Work, bills, food. But, no. They needed the money work gave them so they could buy food. It wasn’t as if they were renegades on their own side of the law, where things like paying taxes and diner checks were unimportant next to saving people and towns from demons or wendigos.

But wait. Cas’ mind reeled, remembering only a few months ago when he applied for his job at the bookstore. They’d told him he had a number of sick days every year, days where he’d just have to call in and tell them he was unable to work due to sickness, hospital visits, family matters, or personal reasons. He could just call in sick. It wasn’t as if he wasn’t punctual otherwise; he always showed up and punched in the paper with his name at the same time everyday: 8:58. They would forgive him for missing  _one_ day after working so tediously every one before that. 

 _Would Dean let him, though?_ He remembered when they’d first settled down when Dean told him he _had_ to work. One of them had to be the breadwinner for the household while the other took over Bobby’s job as the Go-To Guy. Dean had first volunteered himself to go out into the real world with a blue-collar job, but when Cas tried to man the phones, he found he would be better suited finding a job and letting Dean take over the supernatural. Patiently helping young kids as Dean and Sam had once been was not something Cas could put under his skills on his resume. 

“I think I’m sick,” Cas said after a few moments more of contemplation. 

He lifted the sheets off his head in time to see Dean peering over him with worried eyes. His hand rested lightly against Cas’ forehead for several frowning moments. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Checking your temperature,” Dean replied. “You do seem kind of hot…” 

That meant his ploy was working. Cas tried not to smile. He thought he did a good job of it. “Does that mean I’m unable to go into work?” 

“Yeah, I think so.” 

“Will you stay in bed with me?” 

Dean casted a glance to the door, to the dreaded phones just beyond it, the books, the research that needed to be done. But, just as Cas feared he would reject his request, he shrugged and said, “Why not?” 

+

The phones did ring, although not as incessantly as Cas first feared. On his trial day next to the phones, it seemed they did nothing but ring. Dean only peeled himself from Cas’ side to attend to the corded nightmares every hour or so. Considering he could not have Dean at all, Cas tried to suppress his annoyance and tried to find the grace to thank the hunters on the other end of the phone for risking their lives so he could have sick days like this. 

“Kelly, no. I’ve told you a thousand times: behead vampires! Stakes don’t kill them, garlic doesn’t kill them, and they  _don’t_ sparkle. Stop wasting my time!” 

Cas smiled against the pillow. Perhaps Bobby had only been grumpy and impatient because of the job. Cas supposed one could take only so much naivety before one snapped. 

“She is going to die, and it’s not going to be my fault,” Dean groaned as he fell back onto the mattress again. “I need to hit her in the head with a monster encyclopedia or something.” 

“That’s hardly a viable teaching method.”

“Yeah, but it’d smack some sense into her. I should just take away her hunter’s license.” 

“I’m sure Bobby was exasperated over yours and Sam’s questions, too,” Cas replied. 

“Nu-uh,” protested Dean. 

“If you say so.” He kissed Dean’s nose, just because he could. As he settled back into his pillow, he felt the unfamiliar grumble his stomach made when it didn’t get fed in time. 

“Hungry?” Dean didn’t give Cas time to reply before he was jumping back out of bed. “Stay right there. I’ll make some soup.” With that, he was plodding out the door, presumably to the kitchen, to make soup. 

Since he stayed at home most of the time, Dean was usually the one to cook their meals. He’d invested in quite a few cooking books to expand his palate beyond microwaveable dishes. So far, predictably, burgers were his favorite, followed soon after by pie and chicken sandwiches, although he liked to experiment some to change things up. Once, he’d actually bought an eggplant, and Cas got the impression this was especially odd when Sam came by. Dean defended himself by saying he knew Sam was into healthy habits, and because he was a guest, Dean decided to do something, you know, healthy. It didn’t stop at eggplant. Stuffed peppers, roasted mushrooms, zucchini meatloaf - Dean tried it all. 

He was a good chef, Cas knew, not that he had much to measure him by. Nearly everything he made caused Cas’ mouth to water. Perfectly complimented sensations like sweetness and spice, savoriness and saltiness, tempted noises of pleasure out of Cas that Dean grinned at proudly. When he took his lunchbreak at the bookstore with his lovely coworker Cindy, she was always envious of what Dean had packed him, and she’d look at her own peanut butter sandwich and celery with disdain. Cas, of course, always shared - Dean packed too much for one anyway. Cindy always thanked him profusely and told him to give her compliments to the chef. He always did. 

Dean returned approximately twenty minutes later with a bowl in one hand and a glass in the other. The soup was a simple brew of carrots, celery, twisty noodles, and chunks of white meat. As Cas inhaled, he caught the unmistakable scent of chicken. 

“Winchester Chicken Noodle Soup,” Dean announced proudly. He placed the bowl - complete with a hot pad so neither of them would burn themselves - in Cas’ waiting hands. 

“Everything is Winchester.” Winchester ravioli, Winchester burgers, Winchester crepes. Cas had the suspicion that Dean would be working on his own cookbook soon. 

Dean just shrugged. He left to retrieve his own bowl, and then he sat carefully next to Cas. The soup was too hot for consumption yet, but Cas found it pleasurable to just hold the bowl and feel the warmth radiating from beneath the hot pad. It was remedying for a sickness he didn’t have. 

“Thank you.” 

They ate in relative, comfortable silence. The phone only rang once - Kelly again, this time thanking Dean for helping her kill the vampire. When the soup bowls were emptied and taken to the sink, Cas found himself sneezing. He hoped that didn’t mean he was actually getting sick. Dean kissed him until Cas was too sleepy to continue, content. This was the best sick day ever.


End file.
